You Are My Sunshine
by Alexa Bleach
Summary: I love him for being who he is.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Ouran. I don't own Tamaki. I wish I did. Eggplants. Guy Fawkes Day is soon; buy your fireworks.

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**You Are My Sunshine**

All my life, I've watched the sunlight and wished it could be mine.

I want to own the stray beams of erratic, dancing yellow. I want to keep them locked away in a dark place where I can secret their beauty and guard jealously the hours I watch them play patterns against the dark. I want the flowing, amorphous light to cut swathes of my shadow, to light the darkness in which I reside. I've always wanted it. Sunshine is a beautiful, loose, free thing, to be enjoyed by everyone, but I've always had a core of resentment that I can't make it mine.

I want it-- isn't that ironic? I want the one thing I'm forbidden to have. I suppose if I was forbidden water, I would want for that as well. Maybe it's in the nature of people to lust after what they know can't be. It would explain quite a few flyaway romances.

Some things, contrary to the fairytales, just aren't meant to be.

I can't go outside and gaze at the sun while it sinks; I can't lay in a field and luxuriate in the warm like the movies show me. Although, thinking it over, why would I want to? Sunshine is rampant there, and lovely in an over intoxicating way, I suppose. I've come to believe that the contrast it makes against the shadow, the way it slices through the shade is more beautiful than a great blanket of light over everything.

I think sunshine is the most beautiful thing to exist. What a pity I can't tolerate even the slightest shaft, the smallest bar of brazen, molten light for more than, say, ten minutes.

I don't want for much. I live in the darkness, yes, but that doesn't mean I live poorly. I have my movies to show me what life is like for other people, movies I watch but rarely, my lone oddities to fill the empty hours. I have my books and my television to keep me secular from the world; I don't need the world. No matter how much I have --or have to-- push it away, I love the sunshine. It's a lovely thing.

And then there's him.

He is like one stray, wandering ray of the sun. An angel without a halo. A saint fallen from the sky. He cuts through the darkness with no effort at all-- he's all life, and energy and motion. Always doing something, always helping someone, always crying, laughing, living. He's so bright, sometimes it hurts to look at him, the sun on his hair, picking through it to make gilt strands blaze through the blonde thatch. I can see him in my head, all the time, standing as a silhouette against the fading sun. It hurts to look, sometimes, but I make myself follow him through watering eyes.

Like sunshine, though, I can't be near him.

It's one of life's cruel tragedies: the shadow-magician who wants to own the sun. It's an impossible dream we could ever-- I won't say it. It's impossible. Even if there was the slightest chance of mutual feelings, my family would never allow it. And neither, I think, would his.

He loves someone else. It's fairly obvious. I saw him once, in the hallway of Ouran, and I dropped everything I was carrying. Every thought I'd ever had fled, and I was a gibbering fool for the sight of him. In a mad scramble for my things, I scattered them further, spilling papers all across the hallway. I don't even think the fool noticed.

It was after that (isn't it always?) that one of my friends told me the terribly romantic story of Tamaki and the scholarship student, Haruhi. I had to grit my teeth and bear the disappointment; that's life. An endless satire.

It's getting to the point where I can't even look at the shafts of stolen sunrays that sneak in through the blinds. It's too much for my eyes, and my vision's getting steadily worse. If I insist, my doctor tells me, on ruining my eyesight staring at sunbeams, I'll go blind by twenty. I've been ordered never to look at a fragment of liquid fire again, to remain always in perpetual twilight at the risk of never seeing anything, ever.

I can cope with that. I love the play of light against dark, the ripple of yellow against a counterpane of black, but I can live without it, provided I'm allowed one thing.

It doesn't matter that I can't see the sun anymore. I don't need sunlight when I have Tamaki Suoh-- he'll be my sunshine instead.

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**_Author's Note on Version Three:_**

Yeah, nothing really changed. Except that I decided to admit who this fic is about (since, after reading it, I realized it was virtually impossible to hide). So, hope you enjoyed.

Thanks for reading.


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